


Storm Coming In (Trying His Best Remix)

by Neverever



Category: 1872 - Fandom, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 1872
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Competency, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 10:37:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17486567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverever/pseuds/Neverever
Summary: Tony Stark should be the last person in Timely to rescue the sheriff in a blizzard. But no one else is willing to risk it all.





	Storm Coming In (Trying His Best Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cold Snap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746973) by [runningondreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningondreams/pseuds/runningondreams). 



> This fic is a link in the Flower Chain, part of the 2019 Cap-IM Relay Remix event.
> 
> This is a remix of [Cold Snap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746973) by runningondreams and haemodye remixed my story into [Tra Voi, Tra Voi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345015). I love these other stories -- please check out the whole chain.
> 
> Thanks as ever to my beta, Arms_plutonic.

“Sure looks like a storm coming in,” Doc Banner said, standing in line at the supply store. “Think it’ll be a blizzard?”

Stark, who had come for coffee and his weekly shipment of liquor, hadn’t given much thought to the recent weather. It had been chilly on his walk to the store, come to think of it, but he hadn’t noticed much more, given the early hour of his errand. “No. Too early for blizzards.”

“Didn’t the Sheriff go up to Red River Pass after those bandits? You know — the ones that attacked the mail wagon? He’s not back yet.”

“He’ll know to get back before the snow comes,” Missus van Dyne said cheerfully from behind them.

Rogers was as trustworthy as a man could come, and he was as dependable as the sun rising every day. No one in the store was the least worried about him. He’d likely trot back into town with the bandits in tow before the first flakes flew.

Still, Stark would have a vague uneasy feeling until he saw the sheriff back home reading his book at his desk. Rogers would probably have him over for a bit of dinner as they were wont to do and then a game of chess or cards. He wouldn’t send Stark out into the snow. Maybe some bedwarming would be on offer as well. 

Timely was far enough up in the mountains to get snow, and once the snow came, it would up pile up high and deep and linger through the muddy spring. The townspeople kept the passes to the south clear for supplies coming in and ore going out. Snow, in general, was a nuisance at best and a terrible obstacle at worse. You learn to live around it.

Rogers was a smart guy. He’d be back before any storm. 

Stark spent the afternoon working on tools and other repairs; little, uncomplicated things that he could do in his sleep. He wasn’t thinking about Rogers. Not at all. He pulled off his leather gloves and stood in the doorway, checking the jail. Only Wilson was home, stoking the jailhouse fire and keeping watch while Rogers was gone.

A hush had fallen over the town under the gray sky, full of the scent of snow, like it was waiting for something to happen. Or happen to it. Even after all these years, Stark still thought of winter like those winters in New York City, where he was never far away from a warm parlor and friendly faces or a roaring fire and smooth cognac. He forgot about the harsh mountain winters until they were on his doorstep and then he preferred to live in the hot workshop, than in his upstairs rooms with the thin outer walls.

A veteran of the Civil War, Rogers had become hardened to the cold wind and snow after spending his winters in Army of the Potomac camps and sleeping on cold ground. He never talked about it, of course. But Stark had seen glimpses of the medals and the paperwork in that cedar chest where Rogers kept his mother’s bible and his precious paints.

Stark wondered if he’d get a chance that night to eat Rogers’ stew that Rogers insisted that Stark have and drink that awful coffee he brewed. And if it indeed snowed, he might take advantage of that unspoken invitation to stay the night with Rogers. They didn’t talk about it, what they got up to in the dark of night. But Stark found himself craving those stolen moments more and more.

Rogers’ horse, Liberty, trotted through the center of town. With saddle and reins and no sign of her rider. 

Wilson dashed out to get her. With a sharp nod to Stark, he took the horse around to the back of the jail where he and Rogers stabled their horses.

Stark had a drink to fortify himself, considering the shock of Rogers’ horse returning without him. The only way that Rogers would not have returned was if he had been injured or dead. Rogers couldn’t be dead -- he could take those bandits out in his sleep. 

A small group of townspeople gathered outside the jail. A posse in the making. Stark hesitated to join them. The town drunk was not the first choice to send into the wilderness to find the missing sheriff.

Doc Banner sauntered over to Stark, straining to hear Wilson. “What’s going on?”

Stark replied, “Wilson’s trying to talk people into going after the sheriff.”

With a sour look on his face, Banner replied, “Storm’s coming in. People could die going after a man we have no idea where he is.”

“Wilson would know.”

“The only lead is Red River Pass.”

Stark narrowed his eyes. Rogers had saved the lives and property of a number of people in the crowd. They owed him.

“That’s not saying that Rogers isn’t a good man, Stark. He wouldn’t want people to die rescuing him.”

If it was up to Rogers, Rogers would have already hit the trail. He’d find the missing person, tend to their wounds, bring them home, blizzard be damned. Stark barely knew more than a greenhorn straight from the Eastern cities, despite his years in Timely.

The crowd dispersed and Widow Barnes remained talking to Wilson in front of the jail. “Rogers will be back,” the doc said. 

Stark nodded. But a growing fear gnawed at his heart. “I’m sure he will.”

He’d never know what got him to borrow a horse from the town stables and head out to Red River Pass. Stark might not have Rogers’ survival savvy, but he had his smarts and a burning desire to save his friend. He had grabbed a map of the Pass and a compass before heading out, a brief moment of sanity in his madness.

Whatever power looked after fools and drunks had made the vastly undeserving Stark their special ward that day. The horse was fast but gentle. Stark was able to hold on without falling. He didn’t need a drink before rushing off. The storm held off while he rushed along the road to the Pass. All luck in his favor. 

He pulled his horse to a stop. What if Rogers had fallen off to the side of the road, where he couldn’t see Liberty? But then it occurred to him that Rogers must be seriously wounded if Liberty had not brought him home. And if he had been wounded, then he would be lying low in a culvert or behind anything that could shelter him from the weather. 

The road from Timely to the start of the Pass was either barren of sheltering landscape or nearby to friendly ranches or mining shacks. News of Rogers found on the side of the road or taken in would have reached Wilson. Stark rode further on to the base of the road leading up to the pass, where the river trickled down from the mountains and scrub brush and grass grew thickly.

His shoulders slumped as he realized that it could take forever to find Rogers even in this small area. Except his horse’s ears pitched forward towards some noise or movement. Stark urged the horse forward. Then he saw Rogers’s boots peeking out from behind some scrub brush, just as the first flakes danced through the air.

Rogers was far heavier than Stark had ever estimated. Stark had no time to discover how injured Rogers was, only that Rogers was pale and groaned as Stark helped him to his feet. Stark boosted Rogers into the saddle, glad for the strength that working the forge gave him. He mounted the horse behind the rubbery Rogers, who could not sit up under his own power.

“Stark,” he mumbled. 

“The one and only,” he replied. He snapped the reins.

Stark could only focus on keeping Rogers on the horse on the ride back to Timely. The snow was coming down thicker now, and was sticking to the ground. The horse knew the way home, seeking her warm stable and fresh food. 

He reached the outskirts of Timely as the wind picked up. He could see the lights in the homes of sensible people hunkered down to ride out the storm. Stark had not dressed warmly enough to be outside this long in the cold. He moved stiffly as he tied up the horse outside the jailhouse.

Next he stumbled through the wind-driven snow, barely able to hold a struggling Rogers up. “Stop fighting,” he snapped. 

Rogers stilled, finally letting Stark to drag him into his rooms behind the jail. Wilson had left a smoldering fire in the stove and note on the table about checking in with the Widow Parker and her small nephew. Stark poked at the fire until it roared to life. He threw a blanket over Rogers. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised.

“Thank you,” Rogers croaked out. “Thanks for finding me, Stark.”

The snow was now coming down harder and it was getting darker now that was early evening. Stark tied a length of rope to the horse hitch and uncoiled it as the horse led the way to the rental stables. For some reason, Pym was checking on the horses. “My god, Stark, what in the world?”

“Found Rogers,” he grunted back. He was chilled to the bone and the melting snow was now soaking through his clothes. “Injured on the Pass road.”

Pym coaxed the horse into the stable and unbuckled her saddle as she tried to nip at his ears. “I’ll take care of Flower here and you go take care of Rogers.”

“I owe you apples. Lots of apples and sugar cubes,” Stark promised the horse.

The rope was his single tie to the jailhouse. The snow was blinding and Stark walked slowly back, hand over hand on his lifeline. He nearly bumped into the jailhouse when he reached it because the snow had turned to ice on his face. He found the door.

Rogers was awake and sitting bare-chested next the stove, his medical kit laid out on the table. Stark paused in the doorway, suddenly unsure of what to do. He also couldn’t stop staring at the half-naked Rogers, who glowed in the lamplight. “Stark, take that coat off before you catch a cold.”

“What happened?” Stark stripped off all his outerwear and his boots, hanging the clothes up on the pegs by the door.

Rogers frowned as he bandaged up his arm. “Found the bandits.” He shook his head sadly. “Had a shoot-out. Two dead and I got knocked out when I fell off my horse. When I woke up, no horse, a little water in my canteen, and no coat. I have no idea how long I was out there.”

“Two days,” Stark said. “You were gone for two days.”

Rogers was not making an attempt to put a shirt back on. “Sounds like a blizzard out there.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate to ask, Stark, but --”

“Tell me what to do.”

Stark dragged Rogers’ bed closer to the stove and made Rogers get in. Rogers was clearly playing down his injuries. Stark didn’t like how pale he still was or how cold his skin was. Tucked under the covers, Rogers directed him to make the stew. Stark fed him crackers and the last of the cheese while the stew bubbled in the pot on the stove. 

He tucked newspapers around the door to keep the cold out. Rogers fell in and out of sleep while Stark tidied up the place. He stopped to look out the the window, but he couldn’t even see his own workshop across the street in the darkness. 

Rogers asked sleepily, “Stew ready to eat?”

Stark looked dubiously at his effort in the pot. “Depends on your view of edibles.”

“It will be fine.”

Stark carefully helped Rogers eat the stew, finally resorting to spoon-feeding him when Rogers couldn’t hold the spoon. “Not bad,” Rogers said.

“Can’t help that you don’t have taste buds after all that army coffee,” Stark replied.

He put the dishes in a bucket and left the rest of the stew on the stove. He fed the fire, banking coals to keep it going through the night. The day finally caught up to him. He looked around the small room to see where he could set up his bedroll. 

“What are you doing?” Rogers asked.

“Got to sleep somewhere.”

Rogers kicked back the covers. “Don’t be silly. Come to bed, Tony.”

Stark froze at the familiarity. “I’m Tony, now?” Stark said with a laugh.

Rogers patted the empty space beside him. “I said, come to bed, Tony.”

Faced with Rogers’ insistence, Tony took off his pants and shirt, revealing his underclothes. He slipped into the bed, ready to snuggle into the blankets and sheets. Rogers pulled him close, not even bothering to use the excuse of body warmth.

“Thank you, Tony,” he said into his ear.

“I couldn’t leave you out there, Steve.” Rogers’ given name still sounded foreign in his mouth, but he could get used it real quick.

“That storm could last a few days.”

“Suppose so,” Tony said. “Wouldn’t mind spending the time here.”

“No better place to be in a blizzard.”

Tony swore Steve even gave him a kiss as they drifted off to sleep together. “Can’t lose you in here,” Tony said, warm against the other man’s chest.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tra Voi, Tra Voi (The Getting Together Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345015) by [haemodye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/haemodye/pseuds/haemodye)




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